by Jane Charles
Evading the Duke
When the Duke Comes to Town
Rose Gordon
Jane Charles
Samantha Grace
Night Shift Publishing
Contents
Copyright
The Wooing Game
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
About Rose Gordon
Also by Rose Gordon
Ruined By a Lady
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About Jane Charles
Also by Jane Charles
One Less Lonely Earl
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
About Samantha Grace
Also by Samantha Grace
Thwarting the Duke
Outwitting the Duke
Dismissing the Duke
Copyright © 2016 by Rose Gordon, Jane Charles and Samantha Grace
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-311-04703-8
Created with Vellum
The Wooing Game
Rose Gordon
Chapter 1
May 1814
London
* * *
James Noble, Earl of Wynn clenched his jaw so tightly his cheeks hurt, his head throbbed and his teeth were on the verge of turning into powder, then he closed his eyes for an extended blink.
Damn.
She was still there.
By she, he meant Charlotte—his wife.
Of course she is still there, he chided himself. He did marry her no less than an hour ago and unfortunately he wasn't any more inclined toward her now than he had been when they'd first met…
Three weeks earlier
“Did you invite some female companions to our game tonight, Wynn?” Lord Ravenscar asked, a wicked gleam in his dark blue eyes.
“No,” James said, schooling his features to remain impassive. Female companions? Why would he invite women of loose morals over while he and Lords Ravenscar, Worthe, and Holbrook played cards? He wanted to win their friendship and money, not be stolen from…or worse. He shuddered. “What would give you such an idea?”
Lord Ravenscar pulled his cards a little closer to his chest and nodded his head in the direction of the large window at the back of James' library.
All eyes flew to the window just in time to catch sight of a stocking-covered foot that was balancing a dainty, red slipper on the ends of its toes.
“What the devil?” James muttered beneath his breath, slamming his cards facedown on the table. He pushed to his feet and stalked across the wooden floor to the window. Without too much thought or care to what might result in startling the hoyden scaling the sides of Wintermore, his country estate and the seat of his earldom, James unhooked the window's lock and jerked open the pane. His demand to know her identity and intentions died on the tip of his tongue when the daring and ungraceful young lady who'd been climbing the bricks lost her footing and with a decidedly unladylike squeal came toppling down.
Instinctively, James reached forward to prevent her from falling to her death. In his mind this was far easier than it was in action and only after nearly falling out of the window himself, his hands found purchase on her form and with all the strength he possessed, he pulled her inside the window, sending both of them to topple to the floor.
Pushing aside his irritation that this dratted female was climbing up the side of his country estate, he half-expected a few words of approval or praise from his friends at his heroic feat.
Instead, he was met with silence.
Well, silence and a loud whistle that was quickly followed by a crack and a grunt —courtesy of Lord Worthe's fist colliding with Ravenscar's nose.
“Son of a—” Ravenscar's words were cut off abruptly with Holbrook's skillfully placed elbow to the man's stomach.
Slightly confused at what had turned two of the calmest gentlemen of James' acquaintance into pugilists of the worst sort, James looked down at the woman who was still in his arms and lying on his chest.
Her lifted face looked vaguely familiar and he might have had better luck trying to place where he'd seen her before, except just a little below her face were her breasts—plump, exposed and resting firmly against his chest.
A strangled sound ripped from Holbrook's throat, breaking James' trance.
“Charlotte?” Holbrook's voice was hard and raspy.
On top of James, the bare-chested young lady wiggled. She pushed her hands on to the floor above James' shoulders as if she were trying to push to her feet. Just then, she tried to push up with another part of her anatomy.
Unfortunately for James, her knee collided with another part of his anatomy. That was all the motivation he needed to stop sneaking peeks at her luscious breasts and help her to her feet.
The motivation to help her, however, was much easier than the act itself. He'd never be able to know just how it had all worked out this way, but somehow when his hands had found purchase on her body, they'd manage to do so in a way that lifted her skirts, exposing her lower half to the room.
Poor girl. He was rather embarrassed for her.
Or he would be if he wasn't in so much pain from where she repeatedly kept jamming her knee into his groin in her attempt to gain her feet.
With a grunt, he finally managed to push her off of him then helped them both to their feet.
“Charlotte,” Gareth, Lord Worthe said, making a vague, gesture to his chest and keeping his head lowered.
Beside James the flushed young woman looked down and let out a little scream. She spun around, offering the four men her back while her hands flew to her chest, presumably to tuck her breasts back into her bodice.
“Charlotte, what the hell are you doing here?” Holbrook burst out about three seconds later.
Keeping her back to them, she said, “I—I came to see Jane.”
“And you couldn't have done that by coming through the front door?” Holbrook thundered.
“I tried,” she said weakly, her back still to all of them. “Smithers said—”
“Did you tell him who you were?” Though Holbrook's question was for Charlotte, his eyes were impaling James.
“He told me to come back in the daytime. He didn't grant my type admittance.”
James inwardly nodded his approval of his butler's actions. Truth to tell, James' father had allowed enough lightskirts into Wintermore than had warmed Prinny's bed. When James ha
d reached his majority and come into his title two years ago, he'd vowed to himself that that was going to stop with him.
“And just whose idea was it for you to climb up to your destination?” Holbrook's entire face looked as if it had just been carved from marble.
James still wasn't quite sure who Charlotte was to Holbrook or why she'd want to be speaking to Lord Worthe's wife, but he certainly didn't envy her.
“Jemma,” the young girl whispered, her lips trembling.
Holbrook's nostrils flared. “I'll go deal with her,” he said then turned to Worthe. “You take care of this.”
James hadn't been so uncomfortable in this very room since the time his father had accused James of stealing his mistress—which, just to be clear, he hadn't. It wasn't his fault she didn't wish to become afflicted with the pox and had fled Wintermore by horseback in the dead of night.
“Perhaps I—” James broke off, suddenly aware that Lord Ravenscar was still in the room, leering at the young lady. “Perhaps we, should go wait in the library,” he finished with a pointed look at Ravenscar.
“And leave Worthe alone with a woman of low morals while his own wife is in the house?” Ravenscar asked, lifting his eyebrow.
Lord Worthe's face grew dark red. “Mind your tongue, Ravenscar. My wife knows as well as you and everyone else in England that nothing will be happening between me and any other.” He pierced the man with his steely stare. “Specifically her own sister.”
Worthe's words shook James to the core. All the pieces suddenly fell into place—how both Holbrook and Worthe knew whom she was, why she'd be here to talk to Lady Worthe, why Holbrook was so furious. She was his sister.
Which meant…
Nothing.
And yet something about Lord Worthe's face told him it didn't mean nothing.
“Ravenscar, out,” Lord Worthe barked.
“But the lady…”
“Will be fine,” Lord Worthe snapped. He gestured to James. “She'll have his protection.”
Ravenscar's snort made James suddenly want to join the other two at throwing punches at him.
He clenched his fists so not to give into the temptation.
With one more long look at Holbrook's sister, Ravenscar dragged his feet to the door. “Enjoy yourselves. Pity I won't be able to—”
Bang!
“Thank you,” Worthe murmured, raking a hand through his hair.
James nodded, a little disappointed he hadn't flung the door shut sooner.
“Charlotte,” Lord Worthe said quietly. “Everyone is gone except you, me and Lord Wynn.” At her nod, he continued. “We need to settle this.”
“Settle what?” James and Charlotte asked in unison.
Lord Worthe ran his hand through his black hair again. “Your wedding.”
Before James could respond to such a proclamation, Charlotte whirled around to face them both, her cheeks still flushed. “I beg your pardon, what did you just say?”
Frowning, Lord Worthe said, “You two will have to marry.”
“Have to?” James echoed with a scoff. “I don't see why.”
“Because you were just rolling around on the floor of your library with Holbrook's sister,” Lord Worthe said.
“Excuse me, Gareth,” Charlotte snapped. “We were not rolling.”
Lord Worthe gave her a disbelieving look. “All right, you weren't rolling,” he conceded. “But it sounded kinder than to say what actually happened.”
“An accident?” James offered. “A rescue?”
“Yes, both of those do fit the circumstance, except…” Worthe blew out a deep breath. “Ravenscar…”
Dread filled James. Worthe was right, of course. Though he'd been innocent in everything that had happened, and Charlotte had been innocent in most of what had happened, Ravenscar would forever remember an entirely different tale. One filled with such vile and false details that Charlotte would be ruined.
He allowed his eyes to do a slow, thorough sweep of her. She was a beautiful young lady. Slim and petite. Fair skin and blue eyes, a stark contrast to her dark hair. He could certainly get used to looking at her and her womanly curves— No! He yanked his eyes away from her. She was Holbrook's sister for heaven's sake. And if that wasn't bad enough, she was a hoyden!
It might have been someone else's idea for Charlotte to scale James' house, but Charlotte didn't have to do such a ridiculous thing. If she saw nothing wrong with her actions tonight, how much worse would she behave when she was married and afforded more freedom?
“I don't think marriage is necessary,” James offered.
Lord Worthe looked unconvinced. As did Charlotte, he noticed. James narrowed his eyes on her. Had this been deliberate?
A thousand thoughts swirled through his mind. None of which were anything he wanted to actually put voice to.
“Have things been settled in here?” Lord Holbrook asked without ceremony, entering the room with all the grace of an untamed lion.
“Yes,” James said, at the same time Lord Worthe said, “No.”
Holbrook's eyes darted back and forth between the two men. “One says yes, and one says no.” He settled his eyes on his sister. “Which is it?”
Charlotte swallowed audibly, but offered her brother no answer.
“Wynn doesn't see the necessity,” Lord Worthe said in a diplomatic tone.
“Necessity,” Holbrook snapped. “My sister was just compromised!”
“And she would have been dead had I not intervened,” James retorted. It might not be what her brother wanted to hear, but it was the truth. All he'd done was save her from sudden death. It wasn't his fault her breasts had made an appearance. However, he doubted it be to his advantage to say such.
“I know.” Lord Holbrook's voice ripped James from his fog. The younger man fell into a defeated heap on James' sofa. “Had the whole thing happened with just the three of us in the room, I'd have merely blistered the ears of my sister and her chaperone. But—”
“Ravenscar,” James finished for him. Blowing out a deep breath, he looked over at Charlotte. His eye caught on her trembling lower lip.
Just then, she sucked it in and steeled her spine.
“No,” she said with harsh conviction. “I don't want to marry him.”
Well, at least they'd finally found something to agree on.
“Then you shouldn't have been acting a fool,” Holbrook said without a hint of compassion.
Pity for the girl built in James' chest. He'd never seen Holbrook be so cold and callous. Then again, if this was James' sister… Every muscle in James' being tightened. Beth was only thirteen, not yet old enough to be thinking about gentleman, but James was already prepared to rip a man apart who dared so much as look at her inappropriately.
“We'll marry next month.” James barely recognized his own voice.
“We most certainly will not,” came the shrill voice of the young woman James didn't think had an inch to argue. “Michael, I don't want to marry—” she waved her hand wildly in James' direction “—a stranger.”
“He's not a stranger,” Holbrook said easily. His face was now as relaxed as it had been when he'd arrived earlier in the evening to join James for a few days of cards and hunting. “He visited Holbrook Hall one summer.”
Charlotte stared at her brother.
James didn't blame her; he scarcely remembered his visit to Holbrook Hall when he was fifteen. Except the afternoon Holbrook had spent the day in bed recovering from an awful sunburn and James had gone for a swim in the pond. The cool water had felt refreshing and he was just starting to enjoy his swim when he heard the one sound every boy—and man—hates: giggles.
It took him about two seconds to find the source: a dirty little girl of no more than seven sitting next to all his clothes on the bank. His turning around to face her had only made her giggle more—and point.
He'd done his best to cover his family jewels, but it was too late. She'd already seen his baubles and had an unbelievable amou
nt of questions.
Never before in his life had he been so embarrassed, and eventually he'd had to shout at her just to get her to leave. The next day it was his turn to leave Holbrook Hall. Apparently, it was in poor form to make the daughter of your hosting family cry.
Just then, recognition dawned on him. She was that sister.
And he'd just betrothed himself to her.
Whether Charlotte remembered their encounter thirteen years earlier or not, James didn't know. Nor was he in any hurry to ask. Instead, he stood quietly rooted to the floor seething, while Holbrook and Charlotte argued back and forth about the fate of her future as if James had absolutely no say in what would be his future, too.
“You're marrying him, Charlotte. I don't want to hear anymore of it.”
James would be lying if he didn't admit in the three weeks between the incident and their wedding, he didn't wonder more than once if she'd run away and jilt him at the altar.
But, just as Holbrook had convinced him, she hadn't.
She'd come to the church and blessedly hadn't dissolved into a fit of vapors during the ceremony as he'd also feared she might.
“Am I so intolerable that you have to scowl at me all the time?” asked the object of his thoughts.
James blew out a deep breath, relaxing his face for the first time since they'd entered the carriage. “I'm not scowling.”
Charlotte snorted. “And I wasn't just made to surrender my life to the most arrogant, toff in all the country.”
Yes, indeed, this would be a marriage matched in heaven…
Chapter 2
April 20, 1817
London
When Charlotte was eleven years old she'd once been so thoughtless as to ask her sister Jane if she had known that riding her horse that day was going to result in an accident that would paralyze her from the waist down if she'd have still ridden. Tears had pooled in Jane's hazel eyes and immediately Charlotte wished she hadn't asked. Hearing her sister's monosyllabic answer had crushed Charlotte's heart to dust.